For Your Whims Only
by ilexx
Summary: I never quite believed that Beka would have left Tyr's remarks in And Your Heart Will Fly Away uncommented. I actually don't believe a man can say such things to a woman and live to tell the tale... Not even a Nietzschean.


Andromeda does not belong to me.

**For Your Whims Only**

_I thought you said you could never be together with a human woman._

_I did say that... To you. _

That's the way you want to play your games, Tyr? Are you sure? I mean: really, **really **sure?

So: no human can match Nietzschean, right? And no Nietzschean can match Kodiak, right? Wrong. On both accounts. But don't worry, it's one of your most common mistakes. And just to be perfectly clear: I am not jealous. I'm not even puzzled. I just mind the unfairness of it, that's all. I don't mind losing a fight, I don't mind avoiding it, but if there is something excluding me from winning from the start, I'd prefer to be told about it before I begin to bother.

Granted: you told me that no human woman would ever be the right mate for you, but you and I both knew that I'm not exactly long term relationship-material, that even if I were - you and I are too much of a crowd, that we were not talking marriage and kids, but friendship and loyalty and a tacit, mutual pact to take care of and not hurt each other. And to do that, no matter what or who pops out of our past, turns up in our present, no matter what the future might hold. Or so I thought. Looks like I've been wrong, too.

I thought that we were adjusting to each other. I thought that we were starting to move, make slight changes to ourselves that would bring you and me and the others step by step closer to each other, but alas... Alas.

The only thing you had to do was spare me, spare us at least some of that ruthlessly uncompromising Nietzschean attitudes... The things we had to do on the other hand, the things **I** had to do to please you... It seems there never will be enough of them now, will there?

For you I've watched holo-dramas around the life of Drago Musseveni. For you I started jogging, running up and down those damned corridors for hours. For you I begun eating low-fat yoghurts (I took a look at your frige box a couple of days ago: the only things in there were 8 low-fat, no sugar blueberry yoghurts and a huge steak. Seriously? I mean: **seriously**? I've seen prima ballerinas with a more diverse diet. Shall I hold my breath for your grand solo as... _The Black Swan_?), and I started wearing aero-boots (did you know they're not just ugly, but expensive, too?). Just for you I pretended to hate Charlemagne Bolivar and got rid of my plush-dices on the _Maru_. I wonder: did you even notice?

Oh yes, I admit, you time and again threw me totally off-balance, made me wish time and again to be prettier than Trance and more perfect than Rommie... I think the _terminus technicus_ for it is "assimilative complex". Addictive personality that I am, I took it pretty far:

I got acquainted with the entire Milky Way History of Art and read myself through all of Nietzsche, just for you. I took to cleaning the _Maru_'s bathroom on a daily basis. I imposed a chocolate abstinence upon me and even banned my CD-collection, subjecting myself to interminable hours of Richard Wagner. All of it just for you.

Looks like it didn't help me much, so you know what? I think from now on I'll just leave you to your intellectual power-play and go back to my old ways. After all there have been a bit too many things really, that I lately did for you. And some of them really bothered me even more than the rest. Do you want to know what that was? (If you're smart, you'll say no. But whatever Tyr Anasazi might be: really, really smart he is not, right?) Okay, I'll tell you:

For you I said you look good in your "Arabian Nights" trousers, but truth be told: your butt is a little fat in them. And while we're at it, you're pathetic in a slip fighter and with the manual controls of the _Maru_. So next time you need a ship for one of your 'extracurricular activities', I'll thank you if you put in an official request with the High Guard to help you out. And guess what? One can run around fully clothed and still be physically impressive, Lord Byron's epic poetry is tacky, and the only ones left around drinking port wine after dinner are decadent old gents with a penchant for gout.

Oh, and to conclude the matter: Rev Bem already fathered an entire new race, Harper is about 100 times smarter than you are... And Dylan Hunt the hottest guy in the Known Worlds, on which you may quote me **and** Elsbett Mossadim.

So: still like the game, Tyr? And if you do: did it ever occur to you that two can play at it? No? Well, that's too bad!


End file.
